


A Promise Kept

by notjustmom



Series: The Boys in Sussex [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Garridebs, M/M, Mary happened but she's not in this, Post-Reichenbach, Retirement, Sussex, everything in between, non-Rosie story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 22:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A prologue to the The Boys in Sussex.





	A Promise Kept

Sherlock collapsed in a heap next to the pile of weeds, it was summer. Summer in Sussex fer chrissakes the hottest summer on record. If he were in London, he would be - he closed his eyes and made himself remember....

 

It was a fluke. Everyone said so. It was a ridiculous case. Sherlock had taken it simply because it was so utterly bizarre, there was no murder, they were just supposed to find a Garrideb. When he had heard the name for the first time, he had snorted.

" 'No. Really? Garrideb??' "

" 'Sherlock.' " John's tone was warning him he was being a bit 'not good,' but it was honestly too ridiculous. 

Until. 

Until he was sitting on a cold basement floor, holding John in his arms, trying to keep him from bleeding to death, trying to keep him awake.

"John. Remember? Remember - we - you saw that old farm in Sussex online, the other day, I saw how your eyes lit up, I know how tired you are of running around and getting shot at and kidnapped...? We're going to fix it up, you're going to write that book you've been threatening to write forever, I'm going to raise bees - John. John - you have to open your eyes, John. No. Listen to me, squeeze my hand if you can hear me. Good. Okay, here's the thing. I love you. Always have. Didn't tell you because it was never the right time. That's what I told myself. Every time I was going to, someone's mobile pinged, or you were going on a date, or I was dead, or you were getting married to an assassin...okay...never mind about that. I promise you, if you survive this, I will stop the Work, cold turkey, and we will pack up Baker Street and move to Sussex. I just can't, I won't do it without you. Do you hear me, John? Please, John, just squeeze my hand one more time, there. John. Lestrade's finally here. I'm not letting go of you, I promise. I'll be right there when you wake up."

It had taken three long hours of surgery; John died once on the way there, Sherlock had heard it, had seen them bag him in the ambulance and watched as they restarted his heart, was holding his hand when he felt him come back, and he wondered, not for the first time, how John had forgiven him for faking his own death. Even now, four years after his return, after Mary, after the non-baby, Sherlock knew there were days when John watched him, wouldn't let him out of his sight, because he still wasn't sure Sherlock was real. But, he knew John had forgiven him, somehow, something in his friend was big enough, strong enough, to forgive him. But, to be there, to know that John was gone, even for a brief moment, just a blip in their time together, and then to feel him return, it was almost too much, but he was trapped in an ambulance, covered in John's blood, hanging on to John's hand -

After almost a week, complications, they said, old scar tissue, a bad reaction to drugs, an infection they said. Even Mycroft was powerless to make it stop for once, but finally, finally they let him sit next to him and watch as he slept. He was afraid to touch him, so he paced the room, looked over cold cases Lestrade brought over, ate only when Molly or Mrs. Hudson would make him. He couldn't go home, wouldn't leave without John. Eventually they brought in a bed for him, not that he could sleep, he just watched as John slept, and then he started talking, and couldn't stop. Telling John about the farm in Sussex, about the cats they would have, the chickens, the big stupid yellow lab they would name Gertrude, John would have a study, a private study, they would have a big kitchen, build a house for Mrs. Hudson if she would move, Sherlock would have a lab, apart from the main house. He would sell honey at those ridiculous froufrou farmers' markets "...but you have to wake up, John, this doesn't work, I don't work without you, don't you know that?" Finally he picked up John's hand and brought it to his lips. "I promise, John, I'll be better, I'll be whatever, whomever, whoever, you need me to be, if you just wake up, please, John?"

"Yeah, okay, alright already, damn. I'm awake, I'm awake, Sherlock." John opened his eyes to see Sherlock's jaw drop, and for perhaps the third time in their collective history, made the detective stop. He just stopped. "Dammit, Sherlock. I know we're in a hospital, but you can't just stop breathing. Breathe. Take a breath."

"John?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and tried to stand up, but his legs were numb.

"Just call a nurse, yeah? Use the button. Don't try to get up - Sherlock. How long? How long have you been here, how long have I been here?"

Sherlock pushed the button and the room was invaded.

After the room cleared again, John rolled his eyes as he looked at Sherlock, he had lost weight, hadn't shaved - "Did you go home? When was the last time you ate - wait, I remember something. When we were in that basement, you said something."

Sherlock mumbled, "I said a lot of things. Which thing are you referring to?"

"The part where you said that you loved me."

"Oh. That. Hmmm."

"Yeah. Oh. That. Do you? Love me?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah, uhm, yes, yes, John, I love you."

"Good. If you love me, you will go to Baker Street, get a shower, then sleep for at least 6 straight hours, eat something, then come back and get in this god awful bed with me, and hold me." 

Sherlock shook his head. 

"Sherlock."

"You died."

"What?"

"In the ambulance. You were dead for a minute and twenty-three seconds. I saw it, I was there, and I was holding your hand when you came back. So, NO. I won't be leaving you alone in this room. You can't ask me to do that. Please, John."

John's eyes widened as tears filled Sherlock's eyes and finally overflowed.

"Shit. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right?"

Sherlock sniffed and nodded, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I know."

John whispered, "Come 'ere."

"I stink." Sherlock muttered.

"Doesn't matter. Come up here, please?"

Sherlock shrugged and managed to climb into John's bed and arrange them so that John was resting on his chest. "I'm so, so, very sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to leave you."

 

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

"Lunch, you hungry? Just salad because it's too fucking hot to cook anything."

"John." Sherlock reached up and touched John's face.

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

"Just making sure you are."

"Yeah, I am." John grinned at him, at the game they played. It had been two months since they had moved to Sussex, and they were still adjusting. The biggest adjustment for John was Sherlock's need to show him affection. He didn't mind it at all, of course he didn't, and he understood it, god - did he understand. He leaned closer and kissed Sherlock on the forehead, then carefully laid down in the grass next to him and gazed up into the brightest blue sky he had ever seen. He reached for Sherlock's hand and sighed as Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around his. "Lunch can wait."


End file.
